


Doctor Lecter's Stylist Part 1

by BHC



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure, Choose Your Own Ending, F/M, M/M, part one mentions murder, probably not very canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2208417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BHC/pseuds/BHC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are a stylist at a local barber shop and Hannibal Lecter is one of its regulars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor Lecter's Stylist Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> For starters,this is a result of me wanting to see if I could actually write smut.  
> The idea of a stylist hit me one day when I was desperately trying to think what I could do to be different. All the Hannibal/Reader fics I've read have been 'you were his patient' or 'you were an FBI worker he worked with'. Plus, a lot have been you've know him for a brief moment, then you end up screwing each other. That's fun and I'm not complaining, but again, I wanted to do something different.
> 
> Part one, here, is your set up. Things get fun in part 2 ;)

You hadn't been a hairdresser long. You were just a few months out of school, nowhere near ready to open up your shop or anything, so you decided to get a job at the local barber shop where you worked with the owner and a girl. The shop itself was a fantastic mix of old fashioned and modern; great for businessmen.

When you first started working there your two coworkers told you about the regulars and since the shop was the way it was, the staff was pretty professional and friendly there was an over abundance of them. Only one rule was given to you about them; you weren't aloud to work on them since you were fresh out of school. You understood and weren't overly bothered by it, except for the one gentleman who caught your attention.

His name was Doctor Hannibal Lecter, a psychiatrist that stopped in every two weeks on the dot for a trim/touch-up. He was incredibly handsome: tall; thin; strong jawline; piercing brown, almost red, eyes that held hints of kindness and strictness; fluffy, light colored hair that borderlined on gray and blonde; and a thick accent that you couldn't place. He was a bit older than you, but who cares, right, age is just a number. He always wore a suit that fit him like a dream and he just wreaked of intelligence. But, alas, he was your cowoker's client, and would probably always be. You were always excited and sad when he came in. And because he never sat in you chair the most he'd ever say to you is “hello” or “good morning”. You wanted to say at least a little more than that.

You watched him come and go every two weeks like clock work for quite some time and you'd have to busy yourself with another customer or sweep or be doing something while your coworker took care of him. Every once in a while you'd glance over at them, hoping he wouldn't catch you or think too much of it. You enjoyed every second of that glance.

One particular appointment, your coworker was having a rough day, sounded like she broke up with her boyfriend. Your heart jumped a little at just the thought of her asking Doctor Lecter out on a date. But she was in such a bad mood, the day in question, that you figured that if she was going to, it'd have to be some other time. Normally, the three of you could hide the fact that you were having bad days, but not this time with her.

Doctor Lecter walked in, sat down, gave you your usual greeting and nod, then turned his attention to your coworker. She grumbled a response, causing Doctor Lecter to frown. They barely spoke the entire time she was trimming his hair and somehow had messed up slightly. It wasn't bad, it just wasn't normal. She apologized and tried to say she was having an off day, but the attitude that came out with it wasn't convincing. You could easily see that the good doctor was very upset, but he kept his composure as he paid and left without leaving his usual tip.

Just a few days later, you and the owner were the only ones in the shop. Your coworker never came in and wouldn't answer her phone. By the next day, you learned that she had been murdered in a horrific way and that a couple of her organs were gone, along with a section of muscle. There was no concrete evidence to lead to who had done it.

The owner of the shop, hired a new employee shortly after. A young man who had worked at some other barber shop before, so even though he was new, you were still the least experienced worker. That meant that Doctor Lecter would be his client.

It was a slow day on Lecter's next appointment. Everything you usually did to keep yourself busy was already done. So you sat in your barber chair and chatted with the owner and the new guy while you drank an energy drink. As soon as he walked in he was greeted by the owner, who gestured towards the new guy's seat. You didn't move off your chair, until you caught Doctor Lecter pointing towards you. You almost hopped off of it and throw your can down on the counter when he started walking your way.

“I didn't realize the young lady who had been murdered was my former hairdresser,” he says to you as he gets comfortable. “I'm pretty particular about these types of things. You've been here a while. I believe I can trust you.”

“I will do my best.” You nervously draped the barber's bib over him, trying your best to not sound or act it.

“I'm sorry. I don't even know your name.”

You moved to grab your comb and scissors. “It's [insert first name].” You point to your name tag.

He extends a hand, which you take thinking he'd shake but instead he kisses the top of it. “It's a pleasure, [your name].”

You talk with him as you snipped away at his hair (he was so charming). You'd seen enough of him and the way your coworker did it to know what it was supposed to look like. You also constantly thought enough about running your fingers through it.

When you were finished, he was impressed at how perfectly you had done it. He smiled, thanked you, and gave you the biggest tip you'd ever received. Then bid you a nice day and “see you in two weeks”. It was the happiest you'd been in a while.

 

A few more appointments come around and it was always a great day when the doctor would sit in your chair and talk with you. And you seemed to be growing on him. Unlike the girl before you he started to take an interest in your personal life. He asked about family and pets and friends, even what you did for fun, to which you answered with an enthusiasm that you couldn't contain. He found that kind of cute.

Of course during that time, the new guy tried hitting on you, but you always told him you weren't really interested in become anything more than friends (if you even got that far). He would always take it too personally and on one occasion he called you out on your crush on Doctor Lecter. You didn't deny it, but you sure got angry.

 

“You know, those things are terribly bad for you,” Doctor Lecter commented on your energy drink can (which there was always one somewhere near you).

You smiled. It wasn't the first, nor will it be the last, time it was said to you. “Well, not to argue, but it's only the high amount of caffeine that's bad for you. The one I really enjoy is loaded with vitamin B, ginseng, and has low sugar, so that makes up for it a little.”

He smiled back at you and looked in the mirror and saw that your smile faded a little. “Is there something troubling you, [your name]?”

[You tell him something that's been bothering you lately, maybe bills or a family matter]

“You are aware I'm a psychiatrist.”

“Yeah, but I could never afford an appointment with you.” You glance at his reflection, as you finish your work. You take the bib off of him and brush the stray hairs off. You found a stubborn spot and out of instinct you blew it off his shoulder. You catch yourself and apologize for being a smidge unprofessional.

“It's quite alright.” He stands up and faces you. “And about an appointment with me: who said you'd have to pay for one? I'll let you have one for free.” He pulls a card from his wallet. “Is there any particular day or time?”

You smile again. “Well, I get off work every night at seven. Well, expect for Saturdays and Sundays we're closed.”

“Would tonight at eight be too soon?”

Your [color] eyes meet his brown ones. “No. No, not at all.”

“I shall see you at my office then.”

You looked down at the beautifully embossed and fancy card he had given you. It was very hard for you to contain your excitement through the rest of the day.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Now you get to choose between the  
> female point of view **http://archiveofourown.org/works/2208522**  
>  or  
> the male point of view **http://archiveofourown.org/works/2208459**


End file.
